


Judas

by SterlingAg



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Demon Stiles Stilinski, Dream Sex, M/M, Magic Stiles, Mild Gore, Possessive Derek, The Hale Fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 19:18:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SterlingAg/pseuds/SterlingAg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles' mother died, there was something in the hospital. To escape his pain, Stiles made a deal with a demon. The demon had been mainly dormant inside of Stiles since then. But every now and then he can feel the demon just below the surface. Sometimes it's easier to just let the demon take control and make all the pain go away. Stiles never thought that demons would be in his life, so he isn't surprised when werewolves force their way in too. He also isn't surprised that his demon takes a certain pleasure in tormenting one alpha in particular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aeterna Perfide

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Judas fic that I mentioned in LRP. It's not a oneshot, but perhaps oneshots just aren't my thing. I have to make cliffhangers--I just have to. So I hope you guys join me for another adventure. This is a supplement while I get my shit together with Big Bad Alpha. I know you all are going to hate me for holding out on you for so long, but Big Bad Alpha will definitely have begun by the end of the year. So just stick with me, enjoy Judas as it is created, and also keep a look out for my Sterek Big Bang submission on LiveJournal sometime in December!

“Derek, Derek stop—“ Stiles’ voice was cut off by a choked moan. His fingers curled in the soft fabric of Derek’s grey Henley. 

“Why are you holding back?” Derek growled, biting down harshly on Stiles’ collarbone. Stiles gasped and felt a shudder tear through his body.

Stiles forced his breath back to him, “I can’t—Danny—“

Derek’s lips rose in a sneer and he mashed his lips against Stiles’ once again. Stiles moaned and moved his hands to push up in to Derek’s hair. He twisted his fingers in the soft, dark hair.

“You’re mine,” Derek rumbled, his breath warm and sweet against Stiles’ lips. This caused anger to spike in Stiles. The shorter male felt black bleed in to his eyes. Derek hissed and jerked away from Stiles a moment later. His eyes glowed an angry red and he turned his head sideways and spat a bit of blood out of his mouth.

“I am no one’s,” Stiles whispered, his voice deep and strangled as if speaking from a different place. A slow and impossibly wolfish smirk spread across Derek’s lips.

“We’ll see about that, Betrayer,” The sharp scent of brimstone filled Derek’s nose and his body hummed in anticipation. Stiles exhaled slowly and let his consciousness slip away and allowed the demon to take over.

 

Let’s take this moment to welcome you, reader, to the small town of Beacon Hills, California. Beacon Hills is just like any other small town. It has a school district, sheriff’s office, veterinary clinic, grocer, and even a movie theater. Every Friday during the season, the entire town comes out and cheers on the high school lacrosse team. Time came and went in this little town just like every other town. And, just like every town, Beacon Hills had its own dirty little secrets. 

Beacon Hills was a breeding ground for supernatural activity—something to do with proximity to astral lines. There were certain happenings that not even the sheriff’s office knew about. It was handled just as it came up in discreet and quick fashions. There were two driving forces on the forefront of battle against the supernatural in Beacon Hills. One was a family of hunters and the other a family of werewolves—both very ancient bloodlines. Once at war with each other, they were now on a less than sturdy truce. 

But eighteen years ago, something never before seen in Beacon Hills decided to mosey across the county line. This was something much darker, older, and more powerful than any other visitor in Beacon Hills. Its name was Stiles Stilinski and he was here to cause mischief. Now, there are a few things you need to know about Stiles Stilinski. One, he is the sheriff’s son. Two, his mother died when he was very young. Three, his favorite superhero of all time is Batman. Four, his best friend is a werewolf by accident. Five, his real name isn’t Stiles or even what is written on his birth certificate—which is a travesty to all names and will never be mentioned ever. His real name is _Aeterna Perfide_ or—his most infamous name—Judas. 

Now here’s the sticky part of that. Stiles isn’t really a singular person anymore. His being, Aeterna Perfide, is more like the personification of mischief and chaos. Very similar to Norse mythology’s Loki. No he was never a horse and he never planned on giving birth to an eight-legged anything. He was totally not in to the whole mpreg thing. Anyway, back to the important things. Aeterna Perfide sort of just popped up in Hell one day—borne from the darkness of people’s hearts. He was always up for a good joke. His favorite would always be the classic spreading of a witch rumor and subsequent stoning. He so loved a good stoning. So what if only 1/23 were actual witches? No big deal.

So how does something that was created from people in a non-biological way survive for so long, you ask? That’s easy—find something that will survive, for example the humans. Until they manage to destroy themselves, the human race is the perfect vessel for manifesting evil. So that’s what he does. He just latches on during a time that it’s easiest to overthrow the human’s own self and rides it out. He’s a body snatcher of sorts, but much more civilized obviously. That’s what brought him to Beacon Hills. There had been some sort of tragedy—he wasn’t exactly sure—that caused a nice thick miasma of misery to blanket the town. It was the perfect beacon for him. Pun intended. He found a nice body, some elder man who had just been diagnosed with a terminal illness, and blended right in. Unfortunately for him, the illness caught much quicker than anyone could have anticipated and his meat suit was soon staying in the hospital for most of its days.

Not all was lost however. As people like to say, when God closes one door, He opens another. Although Aeterna knew that was the biggest crock of shit because the God he knew didn’t give two flying fucks about doors, he still jumped on the opportunity presented to him. He had become strong enough over the last few centuries to be able to manifest a physical body for short periods of time. It wasn’t anything substantial that he could survive with, but just enough that he could take little strolls on his own. So here he was, just strolling around in the hospital to stretch his legs, when he bumps in to this little kid. 

The kid’s small—maybe eight or nine in human years—and he doesn’t stand much taller than Aeterna’s thighs. His hair is shorn and a light dusting of brown on his head. He looks up at Aeterna with wide, brown eyes. He’s clutching a candy bar to his chest.

“Sorry about that mister,” he says, “I didn’t mean to run in to you,”

Aeterna feels his lips twitch up in to a smirk. He kneels down in front of the kid, “You should watch where you’re going. You might meet with a dangerous person,”

The kid shakes his head very quickly, “I’ll be okay. My daddy’s a deputy! He’s like a superhero!”

“Oh?” Aeterna’s eyebrow rose, “Is that so?”

“Yup! He takes out the bad guys like wham and pow and kerblam!” The kid exclaimed, throwing exaggerated punches and kicks in to the air. He nearly fell over and Aeterna reached out to steady him.

“You’re an interesting one,” he murmured, “What’s your name?”

“Just call me Stiles, everyone else does,”

“Stiles isn’t your name?”

“Nope!” Stiles frowned, his forehead creasing comically, “But my name is terrible, so I like Stiles even better! Besides, my mommy loves it too,”

“Stiles!” Called a demanding voice. Stiles looked up and his eyes sparkled.

“Sorry mister, I have to go. That’s my dad,” he said in a rush of breath before hurrying around Aeterna. 

Aeterna made a small humming sound in his throat as he stood. He turned to watch the kid. Stiles ran up to a man who was indeed wearing a deputy’s uniform. Stiles presented the candy bar to him and the older man smiled softly. He took the candy bar and watched with a fond affection as his son made wild motions with his arms. At one point, Stiles gestured toward where Aeterna was standing and Stiles’ father looked up. The man nodded slightly at Aeterna and he returned the gesture with a small twitch of his own. The deputy soon was able to calm his son enough to corral his son in to a nearby room.

Aeterna blinks and pushes his hands in to the pockets of his jeans. He makes another sound in his throat and begins to walk once more. When he walked past the room Stiles and his father had disappeared in, he glanced at the bronze nameplate next to the door. It read “Claudia Stilinski.” Aeterna’s eyes drifted in to the room. He saw the deputy sitting with his back to the door next to the bed in the room. Stiles was actually sitting on the bed between the legs of the woman lying there. He was telling a story from what Aeterna could tell by the faces and wild gestures the boy was making. The woman laughed and it was a warm sound. Stiles’ face lit up at the sound and he jumped straight back in to his story in hopes of eliciting the same reaction from her. Aeterna watched for a moment more before slinking back to the hospital room where he had left his current host.

It was another week before Aeterna conjured up his physical body and roamed the hospital halls once more. His current host wasn’t going to last much longer—two maybe three months at the most. Aeterna was entertaining the thought of finding a new host when he was nearly run down by a man in a deputy’s uniform.

“Pardon me,” the man said.

“Like father like son,” Aeterna chuckled. 

The deputy blinked, “Oh. You’re the man Stiles bumped in to the other day. I apologize about that—he’s a little hyperactive,”

Aeterna rose his hands in front of him and shook his head, “No harm done,”

“Well,” the deputy rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, “Let me buy you a cup of Joe anyhow,”

Aeterna shrugged and followed the deputy to the small room filled with constantly buzzing snack machines. The uniformed man put a few dollars in to the machine that made hot drinks. After a Styrofoam cup dropped down and the machine began to gurgle out coffee, the deputy leaned against a wall.

He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head back to rest against the wall. Aeterna looked at the man standing before him. He would be a good host. He was strong and healthy. Yes, he had a bit of weight around his middle, but honestly who didn’t? While he was only a deputy now, Aeterna could tell that the man had bigger plans for himself. Aeterna wouldn’t be the least surprised if he saw this man running for sheriff in the next few elections. He was an integral part of the community. This would make it easier for Aeterna to cause all sorts of mayhem. How insanely fun would that be? Except there was one glaring problem: he was just too good.

Most people had something Aeterna could exploit. Greed, desire, longing—but not him. He would rather shoot his own foot off before he did anything even remotely immoral. Which was a total damper on Aeterna’s search for a host. He inadvertently sighed. Back to square one, he thought.

“So,” the deputy began as he handed Aeterna one of the cups from the machine, “I haven’t seen you around here before. What brings you to Beacon Hills?”

“Family business,” Aeterna answered simply. He took a sip from his so righteously bitter coffee.

“A relative is ill?” The deputy continued.

Aeterna chuckled and feigned nervousness, “It feels like you’re interrogating a criminal, officer,” 

“Oh,” the man seemed flustered by this, “Sorry—force of habit. Let me try again. My name is John Stilinski, Beacon Hills Deputy,”

“Andrew Infernal,” Aeterna offered. John held his hand out and they shook firmly.

“Interesting name you’ve got there Andrew,” John commented.

“My family is Old Slavic,” Aeterna shrugged, “I could say the same of you. Stilinski sounds fairly Polish, am I correct?”

“It runs on my grandfather’s side of the family,” John replied with a slight grin, “I’m surprised you recognized that,”

“Well, I’ve been around. One could say I’m an old soul,” he kept himself from sniggering at his own cleverness.

John nodded and drank from his coffee, “So who are you visiting?”

“An old family friend—he was practically a second father to me,” Aeterna lied through his teeth.

“And yourself? If you don’t mind me asking?”

A faraway look came in to John’s eyes and he fingered absently at the rim of his glass.

“My wife,” he said after a moment.

The air hung tense between the two men.

“Why is she in here?” Aeterna asked, his voice low and careful.

“The doctors found a tumor on her pancreas. It’s cancer,”

“What stage is it? If they’ve caught it early enough the doctors can—“

“It’s already reached Stage IV,” John interrupted, soft but commanding.

“Then will she—?”

John shook his head minutely, “She probably won’t last the year,”

John looked shocked. His face lost its colour and his eyes were wide. It was as if this was the first time he had said it out loud. Perhaps this was the first time he was really admitting to himself that he would soon be without the person he expected to spend the rest of his life with. She would just simply be no more.

Aeterna watched as large tears dripped from John’s eyes. They plip-plopped in to his coffee. The sound startled him and he realized he was crying.

“Sorry,” John muttered, “Sorry,” he pulled his free hand up and covered his eyes with his palm. His forehead wrinkled and the bottom half of his face contorted in to an expression of tremendous agony. He continued to sob and shake as his emotions wracked his entire body.

Aeterna stepped forward and gingerly took the coffee cup from John’s fingers and placed it on a nearby counter. John covered his entire face with both his hands and sobbed in to his palms. Aeterna placed a hand that was meant to be comforting on John’s shoulder.

“Let it out,” he whispered, “Get it all out now—you have to be strong for Stiles,”

This caused John to break down even further. He sank to his knees and sobbed grossly. Aeterna took a step back to give the man some space. He felt black bleed in to the whites of his eyes. A tight lipped grin pulled across his lips. That was it—he had found his way in.


	2. A New Host

It took another week before Aeterna could produce his physical body once more. His host was becoming too weak. Aeterna would probably only be able to manage his body maybe five more times before he would have to rest for a decade or two.

Aeterna found Stiles sitting by himself in the waiting room. He was in one of the disgustingly green chairs. He was sitting on his palms and swinging his legs absently. Aeterna stood in front of the boy, causing a shadow to be thrown over him. Stiles looked up with a huge smile on his face. It dimmed and became a small frown before he looked down again.

“Hey mister,” Stiles greeted half-heartedly.

Aeterna smirked derisively and crouched down in front of Stiles like he had done the first time they had met.

“Don’t be too excited to see me pipsqueak,”

“Hey!” Stiles steadied a glare at the elder man, “I’m no pipsqueak!”

“Whatever you say,” Aeterna gave him a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Where’s your dad?”

Stiles made a face, “Him and mommy are talking with the doctors,”

“Oh,” Aeterna thought about that for a moment.

“Mommy is going to be okay,” Stiles murmured, “I think,”

The silence sat in the air. Aeterna clapped his hands against his thighs and stood with a groan. 

“What do you say that you and I play a game?”

Stiles looked up and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Aeterna.

“What kind of game?” he asked.

Aeterna grinned, “It’s a lot of fun. I act something out and you have to guess what I am,”

The boy’s eyes lit up a little, “Do I get to pretend to be something and you guess what I am?”

“But of course,” Aeterna nodded, “Where would be the fun in it if it was just me making a fool of myself?”

“Okay!” Stiles squealed with joy and began bouncing on his hands, “Let’s play, let’s play!”

Two hours later, that’s how John found his son. The boy was shrieking with glee and his shoulders were shaking with insane laughter. Aeterna was on his back laying on the floor with his legs and arms in the air.

“What are you supposed to be?” the younger male said between laughs.

Aeterna scoffed, “I am most obviously a dead armadillo,”

Stiles just broke down in to an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He doubled over and clutched at his stomach.

John smiled and leaned against one of the archways of the waiting room. Aeterna dropped his limbs and groaned.

“No one appreciates my talents around here,” Aeterna mumbled. His dark obsidian eyes flicked up and looked at John.

“What do you think, Sheriff?” Aeterna pleaded, “It was obvious that I was a dead armadillo, right?”

“Deputy,” John corrected automatically, “I’m sorry to say, Andrew, but you don’t make a very convincing armadillo,”

Aeterna sighed heavily and sat up.

“Well at least I didn’t say what I was out loud right after my turn started,”

“It was one time!” Stiles protested.

Aeterna rolled his eyes, “You jumped up on the table, threw your hands in the air, and yelled “I’m Batman” in a scratchy voice,”

“Yeah well,” Stiles mumbled, “I _was_ Batman,”

Aeterna shook his head and slapped his palm over his face. He let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Kids these days,” he grumbled. 

John felt a small smile tug at his lips.

“Okay Stiles,” John said, “Leave the nice man alone and let’s go get something for lunch. And no—candy does not count as an entire meal.”

Stiles pouted for a moment but then smiled when he waved to Aeterna.

“Bye mister!” He called as he trotted along behind his father, “Let’s play again sometime!”

Aeterna returned the wave. His eyes were trained on the dark cloud that was beginning to form around the deputy. His lips thinned in to a mischievous smirk. It wouldn’t be too long before he had a new, strong host.

Aeterna found himself entertaining Stiles whenever he would roam about. It also allowed him the coffee breaks with John. Aeterna learned that Claudia, John’s wife, was refusing further treatment. She said with the cancer having progressed so far already, she just wanted to go peacefully. John may have also mentioned that most of the time, the treatments were more painful than the actual disease. So the woman was constantly having morphine and other pain killers administered by IV drip.

Claudia’s cancer was spreading faster than the doctors had anticipated. John had told Aeterna that now the doctors didn’t believe that she would live for much longer than three months. John and Claudia were already beginning to make preparations for when she was gone.

“It’s all very surreal,” John admitted over a cup of coffee, “I never thought that Claudia might—We had always thought that we would grow old together. She had always said that when she died, she would want us to be old and sitting on the porch of our farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. She said we would hold hands in our last moments and know that we lived a good life together.”

“That sounds very ideal,” Aeterna offered with feigned sympathy.

John let out a short laugh, “Yeah. I just—I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll be able to raise Stiles all by myself. How am I supposed to go on without her?”

Aeterna put a hand on John’s shoulder, “You’re strong. You’ll figure something out.”

“I’ll have to,” John nodded and opened his mouth to say something else when his pager beeped in his pocket. He looked at it and sighed. He ran his hand down his face.

“Trouble in River City, Sheriff?” Aeterna asked.

“’Fraid so,” He slipped his pager back in to his pants, “Would you mind watching Stiles while I’m out?”

Aeterna shrugged, “It would do him so good to be around such a cultured fellow as myself,”

“Thanks,” With a slight grin and a small wave, John turned and left.

Aeterna stayed in the little waiting room for about fifteen minutes before a large group of medical staff rushed past the room. Aeterna calmly took a sip of his terrible, machine coffee and then tossed the cup in the trash can. The hallways were a flurry of motion as Aeterna walked down them. The annoying beeps of hospital equipment and the sound of a flat line were prominent in the air around Room 305—Claudia’s room.

“Clear!” A nurse said before the sound of a defibrillator being discharged came through. Aeterna reached the area outside the room and saw Stiles sitting in a chair. Tears stained his face and he was shaking with fear. Aeterna walked over to him and knelt down in front of the boy.

“Mister,” Stiles said in a small, shaking voice, “Is my mom gonna be okay?”

Aeterna’s lips thinned as if in speculation, “It’s hard to say, kid.”

Stiles’ bottom lip trembled before he threw himself at Aeterna. He wrapped his shaking arms around the man and held on for dear life. Aeterna blinked and slowly returned the embrace. He was surprised by the small spark of magic in the boy. It was little—which was only to be expected with someone this young. But the boy definitely had the potential to be very powerful. 

About ten minutes later, the nurses and doctors left the room.

“Time of death 10:34 pm,” the doctor said to one of the nurses. The nurse nodded solemnly and wrote the time down a clipboard she was carrying. One nurse—Melissa McCall—came over to kneel in front of Stiles as well. The boy turned his tearful gaze on the woman. She seemed to be battling her own emotions as she faced the child.

“Stiles,” she tried. Her voice caught on a sob, “Stiles your mom—“ She shook her head and pressed her hand to her eyes. Stiles shook his head and looked down. Snot dribbled from his nose and tears streamed freely from his eyes once more. He didn’t hold back any longer and let out loud, anguished wails as he cried in the hospital waiting room.

A few minutes later, Stiles had worn himself out. His eyes were red and puffy and his face a complete mess.

“I-I want to see my mom,” he whimpered. Melissa looked up at him. She hesitated and looked at Aeterna. The man only shrugged.

“Okay,” Melissa said after a moment. She stood and held out her hand for Stiles. The boy slid off the chair and took her hand. He disappeared in to the hospital room a minute later. Melissa left after a few minutes, her eyes freshly wet. She walked to the nurse’s station where a few nurses waited to offer their condolences. Aeterna stood and moved unnoticed in to the hospital room.

Stiles was sitting in the chair that was always right next to his mother’s bed. He stared at his mother’s seemingly sleeping face. She didn’t look to be in any pain and looked peaceful in death. 

“I couldn’t do anything,” Stiles mumbled, “Mom died and I couldn’t help her at all.”

Aeterna stood across from Stiles on the opposite side of the hospital bed.

“I can bring her back,” he said simply. Stiles’ head jerked up and he looked wide-eyed at Aeterna.

“Wh-what?” He asked, his voice small and befitting of a child.

“I can get your mother’s soul back and bring her back to life again,” Aeterna explained.

Stiles’ mouth opened in disbelief. He stared at Aeterna for a minute and then back down at his mother’s form. He looked like he wanted to speak. But the words wouldn’t come to him. After a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and shook his head rapidly.

“She wouldn’t want that,” he said, his voice shaking. Aeterna frowned and moved to the other side of the bed. His shadow covered Stiles in the fluorescent lights.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” He asked. Stiles only nodded his head weakly. Aeterna smiled wickedly, “I can take away your pain. I can give you power—I can _protect_ you Stiles. Would you like that?”

Once more, Stiles was still. He sniffled as he thought about this. He scrubbed at his eyes as tears threatened to overflow again. He nodded a couple times. 

Aeterna smiled and placed his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “You’ve made a wise decision, Stiles.”

"Stiles!” John Stilinski yelled as he ran in to the hospital room. In the dim light, he looked at the form of his now deceased wife. Stiles sat in the chair next to her and simply stared at her. The boy then looked up at John. For a moment, his dark brown eyes looked black.

“Stiles,” John whispered. He rushed over to his son and pulled him in to a crushing hug, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, son. I’m sorry,” he murmured against Stiles’ shorn hair. John pulled back and looked at Stiles. 

“It’s okay dad,” Stiles said simply, “I’m okay now.”


	3. Reflection of a Beast

Stiles was thirteen when he started to notice he was a little different than the kids around him. It all started one day in 8th grade science. The teacher, Mrs. Lopez, had called on Scott. Scott and Stiles had been best friends since the first day of preschool. Scott hadn’t been paying attention. Even if he had been, he probably still wouldn’t have known the answer to the question. So he didn’t get the question right. A few of their classmates giggled but Mrs. Lopez took it to an entirely different level. She ridiculed Scott in front of the entire class and had everyone in stitches laughing at him.

Stiles felt his anger rise up inside of him. It was overwhelming and blinding. Stiles had never been so angry in his entire life. No one made fun of his best friend. That old hag was evil and she needed to be punished. A bit of pain would teach her. His eyes fell on a beaker sitting on her desk. She needed to be punished, he thought again.

He heard an echoing chuckle.

_That’s more like it._

The beaker exploded. Mrs. Lopez screamed and shielded her face. Glass scattered across the table. Not enough, not enough. The other instruments exploded on her table and the classroom erupted in to shrieks. Children were ducking under their lab stations and covering their heads. Stiles could hear their screams, but it all seemed so far away. Not enough, she needed to learn a lesson. The chaos continued as the windows exploded inside. One after the other, the overhead lights also exploded causing showers of sparks to rain down in the classroom.

The screaming escalated and Stiles felt his heart race. He felt exhilarated and alive. Yes, that woman was being punished. Serves her right for messing with his best friend. 

“What is going on in here?” Shouted another faculty member who had come at all the noise, “Oh my god, Mrs. Lopez! Mrs. Lopez!” 

The children were still whimpering and crying in fear. Stiles felt his lips curl up in to a grin. Good, this was good. He could practically taste their distress on his tongue and it was delicious. 

“Stiles!” Scott was shaking him. At some point, Scott had dragged Stiles down under the lab station with him. Stiles blinked and turned towards Scott. Scott’s face paled.

“Dude, your eyes,”

Stiles frowned and blinked again. He rubbed his eyes, “What?”

“N-Nevermind. For a second there, I thought they were black—must’ve been a trick of the light. What the heck just happened man? That was like straight out of a horror movie!”

Stiles just shrugged and shook his head. 

He heard another laugh and looked around. In the corner of the room covered in shadows he thought he saw a man. Stiles blinked and the man was gone. The laughter continued in his head.

_Soon. Don’t worry._

 

When Stiles was a freshman in high school, he saw his eyes turn black for the first time. He had just gotten back from lacrosse practice. Jackson Whittemore had really laid it on him during practice and afterwards in the locker room. The love of his life, Lydia Martin, had ignored him once again. His science teacher Mr. Harris was on his ass and gave him detention if Stiles so much as blinked at the wrong time. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything. His anger welled up inside of him. He tried to calm himself by splashing some cool water on his face from his sink. But even that didn’t quell the rising heat of his rage. 

He lowered his head and focused on breathing through his nose. Ever since his mom had died, he’d had these sorts of attacks. They were a little like panic attacks, but instead of anxiety all Stiles felt was sweltering fury. His mind would go blank and everything would become blurred. It was like he was an entirely different person. If only Stiles was stronger, faster, then he could teach Jackson a lesson—put him in his place. If Stiles was just a little bit more handsome a bit more desirable, he would have Lydia at his feet. But he was none of those things and it made him furious. He was just some hyperactive little punk who wasn’t good at anything. His only use was to be the butt of a joke. 

His teeth ground together as he growled. His fingers flexed against the edge of the sink until it was painful. It wasn’t right. He’d already been through so much in his life. Why couldn’t he ever catch a break? Why why why why! His grip tightened and the sink cracked under his fingers. Pain flared in his palms as the shards of ceramic cut his skin. Startled, he stepped away from the sink. What had just happened? He looked up at himself in the mirror. His body started to shake. His eyes had gone completely black. A murky, inky, jet black had covered his eyes all the way out to the edges. 

His reflection grinned back at him.

_There you are. I’ve been waiting._

The reflection flickered like a CD with a scratch on it. The visage it flickered to momentarily was of Stiles’ reflection, eyes black, laughing maniacally. Or perhaps it had been screaming. Stiles swallowed thickly and moved back towards the mirror. He looked closely at it. His reflection raised an eyebrow at him.

_Don’t act surprised. You knew I was here all along. You just chose to forget me. Not very nice of you._

Stiles was about three inches from the mirror when the reflection flickered again. This time his reflection’s head was crooked and smiling before flickering back to normal. Stiles reached up, his hand shaking slightly, to touch his face just below his eyes.

“Is this,” he swallowed thickly, “Is this me?”

_This is you. This has always been you. Are you ready to be strong Stiles? I can make you strong._

The image flickered again. He was kissing Lydia. He was the lacrosse captain. He was showing Jackson his place. He was the Stiles he wanted to be. The image changed and Stiles’ reflection was spattered with blood. Then it was Stiles again, his eyes still the pitch black. Normally Stiles would have been horrified. But perhaps, deep down, he had known all along that this was what he was. It was his time to dance in the spot light. When Stiles opened his eyes again, they were the normal honey brown colour. But there was a dark ring around the outer edges of his irises. His lips stretched in to a wide, bone-chilling grin.

_”That’s more like it,”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. But I'm finally finished with my Sterek Big Bang. So now I can focus on my two little gems of fics! Anyway, I'll let you guys know when I'm posting my big bang after the schedule goes up on the 20th. The next chapter here is going to be longer and focus more on Stiles' badassary. So I hope you look forward to that! Comments and critiques are always appreciated! Thanks guys for reading and I'll see you around~
> 
> Cordially yours,  
> SterlingAg


	4. Into the Fire

During off season, Coach Finstock liked to make the lacrosse team run with the cross country team. It wasn’t such a terrible idea. However basically everyone on the lacrosse team already had a personal exercise regimen. So the only person getting unfit in the off season was the coach himself. It was still good for the lacrosse team to be active together. Finstock said it helped to culture a sense of team unity. Something about those who run together, win together. 

But Stiles didn’t really mind it. Running gave him time to just be to himself. Running was easy to him. He always had an excess of energy to burn so it was a good activity for him. Stiles was definitely not the fastest, but he had the most stamina. Many of the times he could outlast the cross country team while he couldn’t outrun them. Not that he really minded, he wasn’t in it for the medals or the recognition. The activity of running gave him time to be left alone to his own thoughts. Well, most of his own thoughts.

After he had seen his eyes go black for the first time, Stiles had decided to embrace the demon inside of him. Although he wasn’t entirely sure that Aeterna was a demon at all. He was something else—something more concentrated. But he had never hurt Stiles, so he was all right in Stiles’ books. According to Aeterna, Stiles had made a deal with him when he was a boy. Not that Stiles remembered this or anything it entailed. Apparently, Aeterna needed a host to survive in because he didn’t have his own physical body.

“Can you make a body? It seems a little lame for you to just piggy back on people,”

_How rude. Of course I can._

“Well,” Stiles checked his watch for his running time, “Why don’t you?”

Aeterna sighed in Stiles’ head.

_Think of it this way: you need calories from food to keep your body running and functioning, correct?_

Stiles shrugged.

_I don’t have the same energy source as you do. Therefore I cannot maintain a physical body for long periods of time._

“So, how would you be able to make one?”

_I would borrow your energy._

“Borrow my energy? Why does that sound less than ideal?” Stiles asked, pausing to check his pulse.

_You have more energy than most. It goes along with your magic._

Stiles rolled his neck and shoulders. He stretched his arms and held himself up on a nearby tree to stretch his calves and thighs. 

“Look, I don’t know how I feel about this magic stuff,”

Aeterna laughed.

_You’re fine with me sharing your body, but you draw the line at magic? What if I told you there was so much more in this world you didn’t know about?_

Stiles frowned, “What kind of things?”

_Things that you couldn’t even imagine._

There was a small sound. Stiles blinked and looked around the tree. There was a baby bird on the ground, chirping. He looked up and saw a nest in the tree. The chick must have fallen from there. Stiles knelt down next to the chick. If he touched it, the mother wouldn’t care for it. The chick continued to chirp.

_It’s broken its wing. This is you Stiles. You’re weak and helpless. But I can help you. I can make you soar._

Stiles felt his eyes bleed black. It was an interesting sensation. It was like his body was covered in felt. He was warmed and safe in this embrace. He blinked and the darkness was gone from his eyes, but not his soul. He checked his watch and started his timer again. With a step and a gentle crunch, he continued on his run.

 

When Stiles had agreed to start learning magic, he had no idea what that would mean. Aeterna had him reading books mostly. They were all on the theory of magic and the basic foundations.

_Too many good mages have destroyed themselves because they skipped the basics. Pathetic really._

It was actually quite interesting. Stiles probably would never have found let alone read those books. One Saturday morning Stiles awoke feeling tired and sore to find a stack of old, leather-bound books on his desk.

“Where did these,” his voice trailed off as his head pounded. He walked in to his bathroom and ran a hot shower. As he was scrubbing his body, he noticed bruises forming on his skin. He frowned.

“What in the world,” he mumbled. Where had those come from? He hadn’t bumped in to anything in weeks. Even if he had, there were more than normal even for his clumsy self. His head pounded again and he winced. He leaned against the sink, water still dripping from his hair. When he looked at himself in the mirror he groaned.

“Aeterna,” he breathed. His eyes were brown, but the black ring around them was thicker than normal. The whites of his eyes were grey as if the black had washed in to the whites. That usually happened after Aeterna did one of his things.

_I went and retrieved your materials. I hardly think it is any reason to be so unhappy._

”What did you do? Fight an entire army along the way?”

_Let’s just say a few people were none too happy to see me again._

“So even you have enemies huh?”

_Useless details. But since I do it is an even better idea to be prepared for them at any moment._

“Your enemies and all the supernatural right?” Stiles asked sarcastically. 

_As I have told you, this place is a hot spot for supernatural activity. Why do you think I was drawn here? Certainly not for the city life._

“Okay okay. God stop yelling. My head hurts enough as it is,” Stiles winced and held his head, “Can you let me know when you’re going to use my body and go for a joy-ride?”

_If you so desire. Do you also wish to know what I do while in control of your body?_

Stiles thought about this for a second, “Honestly? Probably not. But if I ever ask you have to tell me. Deal?”

_This seems to be a fair enough trade. Deal._

Stiles returned to his room and got dressed. He put on a faded Captain America shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His dad was out on patrol today and Scott was working at the veterinary clinic. So that left Stiles all to himself and the new books on his desk.

“So where do I start?”

_At the top._

“Easy enough,” Stiles whispered. He grabbed the first book and opened it. The book was in a completely different language.

Stiles blinked at it, “Uh, how do you expect me to read this?”

Aeterna let out a sigh of annoyance.

_Must I really do everything? Very well, give me a moment._

There was a sharp, piercing pain in Stiles’ head like a needle was poking in to his skull. The shock spread across his brain and he let out a noise of discomfort. Clutching at his head didn’t do much good either. It hurt so much. The pain focused between Stiles’ eyes and he went cross-eyed before squeezing his eyes shut.

“Aeterna!” He yelled. Instantly the pain disappeared and Stiles gasped. He recovered his breath, “What was tha—“ his voice got caught in his throat when his eyes fell on the page. Suddenly he could read the script on the book easily.

_That was just the beginning. This is not going to be easy in the least, Stiles. There will be a lot of pain along the way._

Stiles swore he heard Aeterna purr slightly at this.

_But it will be well worth the agony. That I can promise you._

The boy sighed and shook his head. He opened one of the drawers on his desk and pulled out a white bottle. He twisted the cap off and shook out two aspirins. After thinking about it, he shook out a third and then swallowed them dry.

“Then let’s get to work,” Stiles murmured as he pulled a fresh notebook from his shelf situated behind his desk.

 

Fire and wind magic were the easiest for Stiles to grasp right away. He also didn’t have much trouble with the darker arts such as alchemy and potion making. He was really glad he had his Jeep and a weekly allowance or else getting some of the things for his potions would be really difficult. His dad might start to get curious as to why boxes from “Witchraft N’ More” kept showing up on the doorstep. So better to bypass it all together. Stiles ended up fixing up his mom’s old flower garden so he could grow herbs and other plants that were a little more difficult to acquire. He got the seeds from another of Aeterna’s mysterious sources.

Stiles also fell in love with working with runes. He loved the archaic power they held. He was even throwing around the idea of getting a few tattoos that would help power up his spells. It wouldn’t be that bad. He could make a potion to numb the pain afterwards. But he would have to find a shaman who could do the procedure correctly. It wasn’t that he needed magical ink or anything like that. The runes would be calling forth the true strength of Stiles’ inert magic and amplifying it sort of like a stereo that you plugged in to your phone. Not to mention Aeterna’s own power already swirling around inside of Stiles. While Stiles was plenty powerful on his own, if Aeterna wanted to put even the tiniest bit of his own strength in, the spell was strengthened by no less than eight times. The dude was kind of terrifying. 

One day Stiles was looking at himself in the mirror. Since starting training with magic, he had also had to discipline his body. His muscles were becoming more refined and toned. He nodded appreciatively.

“Hey Aeterna,” Stiles began, “How do you think I would look with tattoos?”

_Hm? You plan to get tattoos? Do you really thirst for power that badly?_

Stiles shrugged, “It wouldn’t be so bad. Besides, you’re always telling me to be as strong as I can. Also, tattoos are badass. I could be covered in them and girls would be all over me.”

_I suppose. I know a family of Druid emissaries who live nearby. I’m sure one could do the proper procedure. Would you like to design it or shall I?_

His eyes traced the lines of his muscles and looked over his skin. The power brimming just below the surface was something no one knew about—not even Scott. 

“I can do it. I know what my strengths and weaknesses are. You do too, but I know how I want to shape those.”

Aeterna laughed.

_You haven’t taken this much control of your training for quite some time. Why the sudden initiative?”_

Stiles was quiet for a moment. Then he was pulling a sleeping shirt from the pile near the sink over his shoulders.

“No reason.”

_It’s the nightmares, isn’t it? That’s adorable. You are actually taking heed to your instincts._

“What the hell Aeterna? Are you making fun of me now? You know just as well I as do that mages can have great skill in premonitions and seeing the future.”

_Well yes, I know that. But I’m not sure if you fully grasp this concept just yet._

Stiles huffed in annoyance, “Okay sure. I don’t know how to interpret them yet. But I can tell that something big is coming to Beacon—something bad.”

_That’s a start. Whatever it is, you’ll be ready. Especially if you go through with your tattoo idea._

His bed sank under his weight. He inhaled deeply and let out a sharp breath. He opened one of his herbalism books and began to do some light reading. Herbology was one of his weaker focuses, but he was working on it. School started back up again in three weeks and that would definitely put a damper on his magical studies. He would have to balance his magic with his schoolwork, much to Aeterna’s displeasure. But Stiles had made a valid point—if he started to decline in his performance in his studies or lacrosse even, Scott would notice and probably tell his father. Who was to say that the sheriff didn’t sniff out the truth? Not that he had in the last eight years but now Stiles was waist deep in the occult. There was a lot more for the sheriff to use to put two and two together.

It was around midnight when Stiles put his book down and turned off his bedside lamp. He had his dream journal on the nightstand for when he woke up. Ever since he had started to dabble in dreams, he began to write down his own to interpret them later. He took a deep breath and started his breathing exercises. He needed to empty his mind and bring forth his subconscious. The more he was open to the future, the better the results of his dream casting would be. So he calmed himself to a trance-like state and slipped off to sleep.

_The forest was dark and not even the moonlight shone through the canopies of the trees. Stiles looked around and all he could see were trees. They were in various stages of decay and few still retained their leaves._

_How strange, Stiles thought as he moved forward. The ground under his feet crunched with each step he took. His eyes burned from something in the air—smoke perhaps? It made seeing a bit difficult added on top of the glaring darkness. His left foot caught on something when he tried to pull it up to take a step. He stumbled but caught himself easily enough on a nearby tree. When he righted himself and pulled his hand away from the trunk. His palm was sticky with something. Stiles swallowed as he examined his skin. He had thought perhaps it would be sap but it was blood. The coppery smell entered his nose and made him shiver._

_Stiles had heard a lot of tales from Aeterna, so normally horror didn’t really scare him. But this dream—all of this was really freaking him out. He was just grateful he had learned how to wrangle his consciousness in the dream. Lucidity was key in getting to the bottom of a dream’s message. So he swallowed and continued on his way. Something had settled in his bones and was pulling him. The miasma became even thicker and it became difficult to breathe. Stiles coughed a few times before mumbling a small charm for clarity. It seemed to do the trick for the area around him and allowed him to breathe once more. But he wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he looked up._

_Before him a three-story home was ablaze. The flames engulfed the structure in an impregnable cage. Smoke billowed out from the top of the fire and coated the sky in dark purple smog. Even then, no heat came from the inferno. Stiles stepped in to the clearing the house sat on. As soon as he did, it was like a switch had been flicked. Ghastly faces appeared in the flames. They screamed and pleaded. Stiles flinched and covered his ears. The sound was so piercing it was making his head spin. He looked up and counted the spirits—the number could be significant later. There were eight faces in the flames. He couldn’t tell their gender or age, but he knew that they were suffering. They couldn’t break free from this world and weren’t able to move on. What was holding them there, Stiles wondered._

_Even still, the feeling in his gut did not relent. He had not yet found the true meaning of his dream. So with a thick swallow, Stiles continued to step on the burning porch. He touched the doorknob and it was cool to the touch. The flames moved through him like whispers of air. It was strange because the flickering fire actually gave him the chills where they touched him. The house and everything inside of it was intact and the fire was as much a ghost as the spirits screaming at him were._

_He wondered around the house, following the pull in his stomach to the stairs. He walked up them one at a time. They held his weight. The sounds of the fire raging around him hissed and popped at him. The spirits had quieted but their faces were stuck open in pained screams. When he reached the second floor, he turned right. There was a room at the end of the hallway and the door was slightly ajar. As Stiles moved closer to the door he began to hear voices from inside. They weren’t saying anything coherent and there were only two. In fact—wait, had that been a moan? The door was warm when Stiles placed his palm on the grain and pushed it open._

_The room was fairly bare. A window on the exterior wall, a single three-drawer dresser, a closet, and a bed were contained in the four walls. There were two people on the bed. From the sounds and motions, they were having sex. Stiles kept his groan to himself because of course he would be a peeping tom in his own dream. His eyes raked appreciatively over the man who held himself above the person below him. The man had sculpted muscles that tensed and flexed as he moved. He had a triskele tattoo square on his back between his shoulder blades. The black ink glistened with the sweat that covered the man’s skin._

_Stiles moved his eyes to finally look at the person under the man. He froze when he saw who it was. The person below the man was himself. Stiles stared at himself as his face contorted in pleasure. Moans and keens of bliss left his mouth to join the sounds of the fire crackling around them. He put his hands up on the man’s chest, begging and pleading for him not to stop. To go harder, faster, yes, yes! The man obliged and Dream Stiles threw his head back with a shout._

_Then his eyes snapped open and they were the solid black. His lips pulled back in to a wicked grin to reveal perfectly white teeth. There was only a small flex in his forearm before his fingers sank in to the flesh of the man’s chest. He reached deep in to his chest with such force that the man’s ribs cracked with ease. When Dream Stiles pulled his hands back out, dark scarlet blood ran down his arms in rivulets to drip on his face. Between his fingers was the still beating heart of the man. Blood dripped from the organ on to Dream Stiles’ face. He laughed with glee and licked at the droplets closest to his mouth. The red stained his teeth as he continued to smile._

_Blood coated Dream Stiles’ chest as it pooled from the man’s chest cavity. Yet he continued to thrust in to Dream Stiles. Stiles felt bile rising in his throat. The spirits resumed their shrieking and the sound of the fire whooshed back in to the plane. Dream Stiles turned his blood splattered face towards where Stiles was standing in the doorway. His black eyes sent a chill through Stiles’ body and caused him freeze on the spot._

_“This is you,” Dream Stiles said, “This has always been you,” he laughed and laughed as the heart in his grasp slowly stopped beating and flames engulfed the room._

Stiles awoke with a gasp. He was covered in sweat. His limbs shook as he scrambled from his bed and hurried in to his bathroom. He barely made it to the toilet before he was violently sick. He was shaking so badly he fell to his knees. The image of the man’s gaping chest cavity was burned in the back of Stiles’ eyelids. A few minutes of collecting himself, he was able to stand to make his way to the sink. He rinsed out his mouth and splashed his face. But he was still feeling shivery while waves of heat caused him to sweat. 

When he walked back in to his room, he glanced at the digital clock next to his bed. The display showed him it was 3:26 in the morning. In the darkness, he felt around the top of his lamp for the knob to turn the light on. It flicked on and Stiles winced, closing his eyes for a second. After adjusting to the light he opened his eyes and grabbed his journal. The dream still left him feeling weak and fairly disturbed. But he needed to write it down to analyze it later. So he grabbed the black pen and opened his journal to the next fresh page. He inhaled slowly and exhaled through his nose. He let his hand sketch out the triskele that had been on the man’s back in the top right-hand corner of the page.

As he pressed his pen to the first line on the page, a howl sounded outside somewhere. Stiles frowned and looked towards his window. Wolves hadn’t been in this part of California for years. His mind drifted to the fire in his dream. Fire in dreams could sometimes represent calamitous change. What could that even mean? Stiles shook his head and quickly began to recount his dream before he forgot anything.


	5. Tinted Skin

“Are you sure that you want this?” Asked Dr. Deaton, the Emissary friend of Aeterna’s. Who would have thought such a guy was just hanging out in Beacon Hills?

Stiles nodded, pulling his shirt up over his head, “Yeah, I’m positive.”

“Stiles,” Deaton continued, “I understand that you’re already very proficient with your magic. Why do you feel that you need to get these tattoos?”

“I’m still not strong enough,” the teenager murmured, “You can feel it too, can’t you?”

Deaton flinched when Stiles looked sharply up at him. But the man didn’t answer. 

Stiles sighed, sitting on the examination table in the back room of the veterinary clinic.

“Something’s headed for Beacon Hills—something big. I need to be strong enough to protect the people I love. I refuse to be helpless ever again.”

Deaton stared at Stiles for a tense moment, but he gave in and nodded.

“I have all of the things ready. I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to be a long and painful process. Once we begin we can’t stop, or the flow of magic will be corrupted. Have you finalized the design?”

“Yeah,” Stiles pulled the trace paper out of his back pack, “They’re still the same as we discussed, just a little bit tweaked.”

The vet-by-day took the designs and looked them over once more. His forehead creased ever so slightly and he looked back at Stiles. It looked like the man wanted to say something, but he decided against it and nodded once again.

“Very well, let’s get started right away.”

The metal surface was cold against Stiles’ skin as he lay down. After a moment he heard the hum of the tattoo gun. He briefly mused about for what reason would a small town veterinary need a tattoo gun. Then his thoughts were washed away as the needle pierced his skin for the first time.

 

Aeterna laughed out loud.

_Well look at you! That’s some heavy ink you’ve got there._

Stiles rolled his eyes and groaned, “You’re being a total asshole right now. Don’t even try to act like you aren’t enjoying my mild discomfort right now.”

_You’re right. I’m definitely enjoying it. You know me so well._

Aeterna continued to chuckle and Stiles scowled at his own reflection in the mirror. His tattoos were glowing faintly on his skin. The tattoos themselves were not magic, but there were ingredients in the tincture that helped to concentrate Stiles’ magic. It was a strange, yet intoxicating feeling—the tingle of his magic across his skin. But then again, it also hurt like hell. To compare it to something, it would be like pushing on a loose tooth to feel the pull of the fibers holding on to the tooth. 

Stiles gently ran his fingers across the fresh ink. Small sparks ignited between the pad of his fingers and the skin of his sides. His lips rose in a grin. The tattoos were done in a light blue ink, with hints of red here and there. The design was simple yet complex. At arm’s length, the lines of the tattoo seemed to be just basic designs. However, when one got up close and personal with the ink, they could see the intricacies of those lines and understand the strong knit power within. The tattoo went all the way down both of his arms to his wrists. They crept on to his shoulders and down his sides to disappear just below the waistband of his jeans. There were animals and runes and symbols all entwined within the design. Deaton really had done beautiful work. But perhaps Stiles’ favorite part of the entire thing was the three triangles that sat just below his right eye. 

The only downside to this was that it had taken all night and now it was morning. He had school now. Stiles sighed. He really just wanted to go out and play—see what kind of concentrated power he had now with his new tattoos.

_I know what you’re thinking. You can’t use your magic for a few days. You must allow the sorcery of the tattoos to settle and acclimate with your body. Stiles, this is very important._

Stiles rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Yeah I know. Deaton gave me the same lecture, remember? I understand. If I use my magic now it’s possible for the magics to clash and things could go seriously wrong and potentially kill me. Or even worse it could destroy my magic completely. I get it.”

_I hope you do fully understand that._

Aeterna’s voice was dark and Stiles barely restrained the chill that went down his spine.

“Aeterna—I get it!” Stiles hissed, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. His reflection shrugged, its eyes an obsidian black.

_All right. But I really can’t fix anything if you slip up._

Stiles didn’t even dignify this with an answer. He just shook his head and walked out of the bathroom. 

Because of the tattoo needing to heal, he would have to wear loose clothes. So he decided on a large blue t-shirt and a flannel he’d stolen from his dad a few years back. Over that he pulled on a dark blue jacket. The motions were a bit uncomfortable seeing as his muscles were still sore from the long procedure of inking. In all honesty, he would probably sleep through a few of his classes and maybe sneak away to the library for a nap. 

He cast a glance down at his backpack and frowned. The straps would be insanely uncomfortable on his shoulders. With a small exhale, Stiles crouched down next to his backpack. He pulled two pencils, an eraser, and a few pens from his pencil pouch. Slipping those in to his jacket’s pocket, he pulled a couple notebooks out of his backpack along with the chemistry textbook. He could just carry his books all day. It would be a bit of a hassle to visit his locker between every class, but he would just have to deal with it. So he took a deep breath and walked out of his room, closing the door softly behind him.

When lunch rolled around, Stiles could barely walk on his own feet. His body felt heavy and his skin was on fire.

“You didn’t mention this part,” Stiles hissed angrily.

_I told you that the procedure would have some side effects._

“I thought you just meant the not being able to use my magic for a few days! You didn’t say I would become exhausted!”

_Careful. People are starting to stare._

Stiles looked up and noticed that a few people were casting suspicious glances his way. He cleared his throat and continued walking to the lunchroom. He was so tired that he didn’t even feel hungry. After reaching the table he normally sat at, Stiles let his books fall noisily to the table. They didn’t fall evenly and so a few books slid off one another. He carefully leaned back against the chair. Luckily enough for him, he was taller than the chair so the top of it didn’t touch the tattoos on his shoulder bones. 

“Dude,” Scott said as he sat down across from Stiles, “What’s your deal? You look super exhausted.”

“Yeah. It’s just—I was up all night. Raids, you know?”

Scott shook his head, his lips turned up slightly in a grin, “You’ve gotta quit playing those online games. Especially when I’m not on your team!”

Stiles returned the smile, straining slightly, “I would’ve creamed up way faster if you had been playing with me, man.”

“That’s right and don’t you forget it,” Scott stood, “Are you getting lunch today?”

“Nah, I’m not feeling too good,”

“Oh,” Scott frowned slightly, “Don’t even think about getting me sick. Lacrosse try-outs are this Friday. I’m getting on first string this year for sure!”

Stiles shook his head and waved Scott off, “Just go—I can’t stand your overbearing optimism.” With that Scott bounded away towards the lunch line. 

_That was some quick thinking._

At the voice in his head, Stiles couldn’t help but to glower at the empty chair across from him.

“I don’t want your praise,” he growled. He felt a sharp burn starting on his skin. It was so intense that he was forced to bend over. The table was cool against his feverish forehead.

“What is this?” 

_Your magic is acclimating itself to the tattoos._

“It’s—“ He winced and bit down harshly on his lips, “This is awful.”

Aeterna was quiet for a moment. It was as if he was watching and deciding what to say.

_I can take this pain away._

“You mean you want to take over.”

_It would make the process easier. I have a better handle on everything happening to your magic right now. My control would also lessen the stress on your body._

Stiles ground his teeth. The heat was building across his skin to a point where it was nearly unbearable. The lines of ink in the tattoo felt like open cuts, a sting sinking deep in to his every nerve.

“I can’t take this,” he whispered in a hiss.

_Close your eyes._

Stiles did as he was told and allowed his eyelids to fall shut. Almost instantly the pain faded away and Stiles was transported to the limbo of consciousness. It was a dark place and it was a strange floating sensation. His body was free in this place and nothing hurt. It was his addiction—his escape.

When Stiles’ eyes opened, the golden brown iris’ were rimmed with black. Aeterna straightened in his seat. He felt the heat of the magic in the tattoos cool as Stiles’ inherent magic was controlled. Pushing up his sleeve slightly, he gazed upon the design. The lines had flared red when the Druidic process had begun its final stage. But now the ink shone bright blue before fading to black and then settling on a navy blue.

Scott slid in to the seat once more, his sea foam green tray clattering against the table’s surface. He picked up a chicken nugget and dipped it in ketchup. As he brought the fried treat to his lips, he paused. His eyes were on Stiles across from him.

“Dude,” he said softly, “I’m not sharing—Go get your own.”

Aeterna pulled his lips in to a thin smile, “Didn’t mean to stare. I was just wondering how a person who eats only chicken nuggets and a chocolate pudding cup is going to make first string.”

Scott promptly grilled Stiles with all of the practicing he’d been doing. Aeterna tuned him out and crossed his arms, now pulsing with hidden and concentrated power. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face. Soon, Stiles would be the most powerful host he had ever had. To think, he had originally wanted the Sheriff. What a mistake that would have been! A small chuckle escaped him just as the lunch bell rang.

 

_Tell me again what we’re doing out here._

“Don’t complain,” Stiles grumbled as he moved a branch from his face. He looked up through the treetops at the sliver of moon peeking out from the clouds. The darkness was thick due to the covering from the clouds. Closing his eyes, he muttered a small charm under his breath. He felt the swell of power as his tattoos reacted to the magic. The triangles under his eyes warmed his skin as the charm took hold. When he opened his eyes again, his vision was clear and it was as if the darkness was nothing.

_I’m not complaining. But if you want to practice your magic, there are ways that aren’t nearly as cold._

Stiles rolled his eyes, “You are so freaking whiny. Jesus, it’s like I’m babysitting a toddler.”

_Shouldn’t it be the other way around?_

The teenager flipped Aeterna off in his mind. The demon simply chuckled at the gesture. 

“Anyway,” Stiles began, “I couldn’t sleep. I have this really weird feeling in my gut and I don’t know. It’s like—I can’t explain it very well. But I feel like I need to go somewhere.”

_Which is why we are now walking through the forest in the middle of the night. I can see your breath._

Stiles didn’t even respond. Aeterna was the oldest child that Stiles knew. Honestly, he had a hard time believing that the specter had been around since the beginning of humanity. 

As he continued on his way, Stiles had a nagging sense of déjà vu. His feet fell on the ground in familiar steps. Even though he was in the middle of nowhere with only the stars and moon to guide him, he didn’t feel lost. But he always used the old train station for trying out his spells and practicing his offensive and defensive magics. So it wasn’t as if he was used to the woods from training. Yet he didn’t feel out of place in the least. 

The terrain began to thin and he found himself walking up a slight hill. He paused, placing his hand against a tree. The life power and nature magic beneath the bark pulsed and responded to his touch. When he pulled his hand away, he half expected it to be covered in blood.

He frowned at his clean hand, “Why would it—“ he shook his head and continued forward. The feeling in his stomach turned to sickness and he winced as a wave of nausea hit him. It was dizzying at first and he stumbled his next few steps. Just as the pain came, it cleared instantly. Like he had crossed a barrier of some kind. That’s when he looked up.

Looming before him was the burnt out shell of a three-story home. 

“This is—“ he gasped.

_Something’s here._

Stiles frowned, “What do you me—“

There was only the slightest of sound that alerted Stiles to its presence. He turned in time to be tackled to the ground. It had happened so quickly that he didn’t have time to react with a spell. His skin crawled with the need to retaliate with magic. There was a pressure on his chest and he felt a tight grip on his throat.

“Don’t think you’ll get away this time,” growled a rich, tenor voice, “I’ve finally caught you, murderer.”

With his enhanced eyesight, Stiles just had to blink to focus once more. Pinning him to the ground was a man. At least, he thought it was a man. His eyes were glowing blue and fangs hung menacingly from between his lips that were raised in a snarl. Then Stiles felt his blood run cold and the color drained from his face. 

It was the man from his dream the other night.

Aeterna laughed, the sound rattling around Stiles’ skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tattoo designs are from the Firestarter AU that 2amsugarrush has made amazing art for on tumblr. You should check her out! You won't be disappointed in the least!


	6. With Fangs to Bite

Stiles stared up in to the shining blue eyes of the man above him. Thanks to his earlier charm, Stiles was able to make out his features. Hair covered his chin in a light, scruffy beard. His lips were pulled back in to a snarl and flashed sharp fangs down at Stiles. He was strong, based on the pin he had Stiles in. The thin Henley that he wore was tight across his muscles, which was further proof of his strength.

_What are you doing?_

Aeterna yelled in Stiles’ head.

This startled Stiles enough and he felt his power swell inside of him. He called forth a small gust of wind between him and the man. It forced the man off of him and threw him back. Easily the man landed on his hands and feet in a crouch.

Stiles stumbled to his feet, his body humming with the use of his magic. He felt the power flooding his veins and clearing his head. Things were sharper and his thoughts came easier. His arm tingled and a small ball of fire gathered in his palms. He widened his stance to ground himself. Straightening his shoulders he let the flames grow to about the height of his forearms. He could feel the heat radiating from the flames, but he wasn’t the least worried about getting burned.

“Let’s hang on just one second, okay?” Stiles growled, “Now I don’t know where you come from, but it’s considered rude around these parts to go attacking people and calling them murderers when you meet them for the first time.”

The man seemed just a bit hesitant about the fire in Stiles’ hands. However, he seemed to gather his wits again and sneered at Stiles again. His eyes flashed blue angrily and his muscles tensed. But he did not move.

“Let’s try this again, shall we? My name is Stiles. I am not a murderer. Your turn,”

“Why should I tell you my name? Mages have power over people if they know their names,”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. The man had a bit of knowledge about mages—even though that wasn’t exactly what Stiles was.

“Fair enough. Just tell me your first name then. You should know that’s safe. Besides, you already know my name so at this point I’m at a bit of a disadvantage,”

“Yes, because wielding fireballs like stones is a disadvantage,” the man mumbled to himself, “My name is Derek. How do I know you aren’t a murderer?”

“Straight in to the questions, huh,” Stiles sighed and shook his head, “What are you? A shifter? Werewolf probably?”

Derek’s lips thinned in to a fine line and he didn’t move.

“I would say we’ve got a winner then. You should be able to tell that my scent hasn’t been around here ever. Also, I don’t even know who’s dead or who you are and why you would be looking for a murderer. If you are a werewolf, you know that I’m not lying right now.”

“Show me I can trust you—cease your spell,” Derek said after a moment.

“Fine. Easy,” Stiles closed his fingers in to fists and the flames instantly dissipated. Derek’s body immediately relaxed and Stiles watched as the man’s nails receded back in to his hands. But his eyes still glowed a dim blue, as if to remind Stiles the threat that still remained.

“What are you doing on this land?” Derek asked, taking cautious strides towards Stiles. 

Stiles sighed and looked around, “I’m not really sure actually. I just had a gut feeling that I needed to come here. Like I needed to find something,”

“Find something?” Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles, “Find what?”

“Look, I don’t know exactly,” Stiles pushed a hand through his hair, “I had a dream and I saw this girl—“

“What?” Derek hissed, now standing within arm’s reach.

Stiles frowned, “In my dream there was a girl and it felt like she was calling out for help. Or actually,” Stiles pursed his lips. He closed his eyes and tried to recall the image from his dream.  
“She was saying “Run, it’s dangerous. Run.”” Stiles opened his eyes and looked at Derek, “She was telling you to run, Derek.”

“How do you know that? How can you know that?” Derek roared, suddenly grabbing Stiles by his hoodie collar. 

“I don’t know! That’s just how dreams work! I’m sorry I don’t have more answers than that!” Stiles’ fingers twitched and he felt the heat of magic just below the surface. But he kept the power from escaping and remained in control. He inhaled deeply and calmed himself.

“What are you looking for Derek?”

His grip tightened on Stiles for a moment before releasing him, “My sister, Laura.”

“Did you two get separated?” Stiles asked.

“Not exactly,” Derek shook his head, “She left New York two months ago. But I haven’t heard anything from her in a week.”

“Maybe she’s just busy?”

“She was tracking something, mage. Something deadly.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Hello? Magical person standing right before you. I kind of have an extensive knowledge of the supernatural. You don’t have to be cryptic with me.”

“She was looking for an omega,” he said, a low growl clipped on to the end of his words.

_A lone werewolf._

“Thank you,” Stiles quipped sarcastically. Derek raised an eyebrow at him, “Sorry, not you. You think that the omega caught her?”

Derek didn’t answer, but his face did harden. Stiles nodded and scratched absently at the triangles under his eyes.

“Well,” he mused, “Why don’t I help you find your sister and the omega?”

“Why would I want you in my business?”

“Look here Sourwolf,” Stiles said, jabbing his finger in to Derek’s chest, “I received a message and now I’m replying. So we’re in this together, whether you like it or not.”

Derek’s eyes flared blue and a growl rumbled low in his throat. It caused goose bumps to rise on Stiles’ skin. His instincts told him he should run—this was dangerous he could get killed. But something inside of him was pulling him towards Derek. He was pretty sure it wasn’t Aeterna. The demon had actually been fairly quiet throughout this entire ordeal.

“Why should I trust you?” 

“Because you attacked me and I haven’t flayed you alive and made a pelt from your fur.” There was an undertone of ice in Stiles’ voice. His heart didn’t skip once—he wasn’t lying and that was totally within his power.

“Fine,” Derek grumbled with some hesitation.

Stiles flashed him a shit-eating grin, “Glad we got that out of the way. Now, where should we start this investigation? Can’t you just sniff out some clues, Scooby?”

Derek gave him a look that told him not to push it. He didn’t seem amused in the least. Shame, Stiles had class A humor.

“I’ve been trying,” he began, “But there’s this sour scent, like something rotting, that’s everywhere. I can’t pick a scent out from underneath it.”

“Something rotting? Like a sulfuric smell?”

“Like fire and brimstone, actually.”

_Impressive._

Stiles was startled by Aeterna’s sudden appearance in the conversation. He frowned, alerting Aeterna to his confusion and question.

_I suppose I should explain. That smell would most likely be me. I’m impressed that he’s able to pick up on it. However, he doesn’t seem to understand it or know what it is. That’s probably for the best._

It was an awkward moment until Stiles realized that Derek was staring at him. At least Stiles had had half a mind not to talk to himself. That’s how he normally communicated with Aeterna. Even though they could communicate entirely in Stiles’ head, that was just too strange for Stiles. He felt that in doing that, he was too accepting and too comfortable with Aeterna inside of him.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

Derek shook his head, “I’m out of leads at this point.”

“So you’re just running around the forest, hoping to find something by chance?”

“Found you, didn’t I?” He grumbled.

“You did. But I’m going to be a better ally than you could ever imagine.”

Derek gave him a skeptical look, but he seemed too exhausted to argue. Besides, he didn’t even know Stiles—it could turn out to be entirely true.

Stiles yawned, his own exhaustion settling in to his bones.

“I’ll check with my dad about your sister tomorrow.”

“What good will that do?”

“My dad’s the Sheriff. What’s your sister’s name?”

“Laura,” Derek replied.

Stiles nodded, “Okay. Laura. Got it. I’m going to make my way back home and sleep off this entire hike. So if you don’t mind,” he pulled his right hand up and snapped his fingers. As if igniting a match, a small flame settled on the tip of his index finger. It lit the area in front of him like a lantern.

“Take care of yourself Sourwolf, don’t step in any traps.”

Derek rolled his eyes, “As if I would be so moronic,” then he turned away from Stiles and dropped in to a four-legged lope. His movements were silent even across the leaf rot of the forest floor. Stiles watched him go and couldn’t help but be impressed. He could see why people wrote so many stories about werewolves and the supernatural. It was all just so fascinating and captivating. After a minute, Stiles decided that he too should return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter! I know! But it's a filler to get us in to the next chapter. So hang in there and keep an eye out for that!


	7. Spark

Stiles looked up as he heard the front door open. The chair scrapped when he pushed away from the table.

“Dad?” He called.

“It’s just me,” John replied. His voice was heavy with exhaustion. Stiles moved in to the doorway as his father took off his coat to hang it on the hook by the front door. He also removed his holster and hung it on the hook next to his coat. Like clockwork, John removed the standard black .45 ACP pistol and checked the safety and removed the magazine. The pieces of the firearm were then placed in the drawer next to the coat hangers. 

“Tough day at work?” Stiles asked after a long yawn escaped his father’s lips.

John chuckled, “More like a tough month. I swear, it’s like someone kicked the hornet’s nest.”

“I made dinner—if you’re hungry,” he offered, “There’s even real meat tonight.”

John gave him a skeptical look but did not argue. Easily enough, he walked in to the kitchen without any further prompting.

_This is terrible even by my standards. I love it._

Stiles glared at his reflection in the mirror near the door.

“This affects me just as much as it affects him,”

_Who is the “him” you’re speaking of? Is it your father?_

Aeterna paused. When he spoke again, his voice had a pleased purr to it.

_Or is it Derek?_

The boy ignored the pink that rose to his cheeks.

“My father,” he hissed, “That’s obvious.”

_Oh, of course. My mistake._

Aeterna laughed. Stiles let out a frustrated breath and followed his father in to the kitchen.

 

Two hours later Stiles was refilling his father’s whisky glass for about the third time. 

“It just doesn’t make sense,” John slurred, gazing down at the glass, “These animal attacks are all happening at once.”

“Why?”

John let out a frustrated breath, pushing a hand back through his already disheveled hair, “That’s the thing—there’s no reason for them.” He shook his head and downed the drink with one tilt of his head. The glass clattered carelessly against the wooden grain of the table.

“It was just animals at first,” he continued, “But then there was this girl—god Stiles she was ripped in half. We still aren’t even sure where the top half of her is. Had to run blood samples to ID her. Don’t even know what she was doing back in Beacon Hills honestly.”

“What do you mean?”  
“Her and her brother’d skipped town right after the fire—hadn’t heard from them in 8 years.”

“Fire? You mean the Hale Fire?” Stiles asked slowly. He felt dread at knowing the answer, but then again he had offered to walk this path. Now he had to stick with his convictions.

John grabbed the bottle of liquor and poured his own glass, “The body belonged to Laura Hale,” he said with a shake of his head before drinking once more.

Stiles’ stomach dropped and he immediately felt queasy. Derek hadn’t told Stiles his last name, but it wasn’t that hard to figure out. They had been in front of the Hale home when Derek had confronted him. Now Stiles knew that Laura Hale—Derek’s older sister—was dead. He shook his head and looked up, hoping to get a little more information out of his father. But the man had passed out, pillowing his head on the table with his arms.

_What now?_

The boy shook his head again and rose from the chair. He moved silently in to his room. His reflection was pale in the mirror hanging over his dresser.

“Should I tell Derek?”

_He’ll want to know. You had said you would ask your dad after all._

“But she’s his _sister_. She’s all he had left.”

_Perhaps you should have thought of that before we got mixed up in all of this._

“Aeterna,” Stiles said in a low warning tone. He pressed his palm to his eyes and sighed, “I have to tell him.”

_Then let the hunt begin._

Stiles rolled his eyes, “If he knew how much you treated him like an animal, he’d probably rip out both our throats.”

_I wouldn’t be so sure._

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Stiles asked as he pushed his arms in to a jacket.

Aeterna didn’t answer.

“Now is so not the time for your cryptic bullshit, Aeterna.”

Still Aeterna didn’t reply.

“Fine,” Stiles mumbled, “Be that way.”

With that, he opened his window and quietly crept out.

 

Stiles could see his breath as he walked. The leaves crunched under his feet. He’d left his Jeep on a small service road just a bit west of the Preserve. Now he had to walk the rest of the way to the Hale property. He had a feeling Derek was out there somewhere, so Stiles just had to walk around long enough for Derek to catch his scent. But something felt off tonight. 

The woods were strangely quiet. Stiles didn’t hear the owl or scuttle of nocturnal creatures like he normally did. This caused a bit of worry to build in his stomach. For some reason, he was on edge. Then again, the woodland creatures had since learned to stay hidden when predators were nearby. They hadn’t picked up on the fact that Stiles was something they should fear. So there must be something else close by.

“Derek?” Stiles called, his voice being swallowed by the grand expanse of the woods, “Derek, are you out here?”

Something prickled at his skin and goose bumps rose across his flesh. He noticed the triangles below his eye were glowing softly. That was never a good sign. When his tattoos started to react, it was akin to Peter Parker’s “spidey-sense.” 

“Derek, this isn’t funny,” Stiles said again.

No. That wasn’t right. Even when he’d attacked him, Stiles’ tattoos hadn’t reacted like this to Derek. 

A twig snapped to Stiles’ left and he wheeled around. Saying a charm in his head, his eyesight sharpened once more. The shapes of trees were clear and the outlines defined. A blur of motion to his right had Stiles turning on his heel. He was just barely able to catch sight of a massive figure before it disappeared out of his field of vision.  
Stiles flexed his fingers and felt his magic thrum beneath his skin. Sparks flickered from his fingertips, gently illuminating the air around his hands.

“Come out come out wherever you are,” he whispered, his eyes darting from left to right. A growl sounded behind him and Stiles turned just in time to see the shape charging towards him.

It was huge. The thing looked like it had come straight out of a bad 80’s horror film. Broad shouldered and covered with powerful muscles, the beast bounded towards Stiles. It covered ten feet easily in one stride. Before Stiles could fully dissect it, the beast was upon him. It pushed him down and Stiles skidded across the ground with the force of the blow. Rocks bit in to his exposed skin and sticks cut him. Stiles blasted lightning at the thing, but it easily dodged the strikes. 

Cursing under his breath, Stiles tried to muster more power between his palms. But the beast was much faster than him. It struck out with one of its massive paws. Stiles moved back just in time to avoid having his throat slashed, but the claws caught the neck of his t-shirt and ripped it right down the middle. Stiles winced as he felt the ends of the claws catch the slightest bit of skin. Now he was severely pissed.

Stiles threw his arms out in front of him and a wall of wind pushed the beast back. It skidded to a stop and lowered on to its back legs. Stiles spread his feet to steady his stance. He locked his arms in 90 degree angles in front of him. His palms were turned towards each other, right hand over left. He felt his power surge inside of him. The feeling of his magic made his heart speed up and a tingle began behind his eyes. His unzipped jacket and ripped shirt fluttered around him as power gathered between his palms. Sparks and electricity jumped between his palms and the glow cast shadows across his face. His lips slowly widened in to a wicked grin.

“Let’s play catch, shall we?”

The beast roared at him and pushed off from the ground. It was even faster than it had been the first time. But Stiles wasn’t afraid in the least. When the beast was just about to reach Stiles, he released the magic he had been building. It exploded out from his palms in a blast of white light and was so strong that it even knocked him off his feet despite his wide stance. The blast hit its mark and the beast yowled. The scent of burned hair and singed flesh filled the air. 

Blinking away the spots burned in to his vision, Stiles looked up to see the beast loping away from him. It was slower than it previously had been. If he followed now, Stiles could probably take it out. He began to get up from where he had been knocked back. His vision swam and the strength in his limbs left him. He fell forward against the damp forest ground. A groan forced its way from his lips. Dizziness and exhaustion settled on him like a heavy blanket.

“Shit,” he hissed, “Used too much.”

_No wonder. That was the most magic you’ve ever used at once._

Stiles groaned again, “Now you decide to show up?”

_I was actually going to compliment you. But I suppose I’ll just keep it to myself._

“God, how old are you again?” He tried to move but his arms felt like lead. Stiles had a feeling he would be there for quite a while before his body got any strength back. But then he smiled, the grin taking over his entire face.

“But damn that was awesome!” Laughter filled the air before he completely blacked out.

 

Stiles opened his eyes slowly. He winced and quickly shut them. His entire body ached. But there was a humming warmth to his skin. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes again. He expected to see the forest around him but was surprised when he realized he was indoors. It was dark but he could make out the shapes of things. It looked like he was in the abandoned train station. He sat up on his elbows to get a better look. He groaned from the effort of it and at the soreness of his limbs.

It was at that time that he realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Frowning, he looked down. There were patches of gauze tapped to his chest. Had someone found him in the forest? But then they’d treated him instead of taking him to the hospital. He felt like he vaguely remembered someone calling out to him. Then there had been a bit of movement but his mind was foggy. He shook his head, regretting the motion immediately from the wave of nausea it brought him. 

Gently he lowered himself to lie back down. He supposed since he was still alive and even his wounds were treated that he wasn’t in any immediate danger. So he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep for a little longer. As his eyelids fluttered shut, he thought he saw a dim flash of blue in the darkness to his left. But he didn’t dwell on it as he was consumed once again by an exhausted sleep.

 

Stiles didn’t have any idea what time it was when he woke up again. He only knew two things—his body hurt and he was absolutely starving. He blinked his eyes open and looked around. The train station was softly lit by the outside light. Many of the windows and doorways had been boarded over when it had been shut down. But rays peeked in through the rotting wood and caused a golden glow to fill the room.

In tandem with his sore limbs and growling stomach, Stiles had a terrible headache. He cursed under his breath as he sat up. The sheet that had been covering him pooled at his hips. Rubbing gentle circles in to his temples, he surveyed the area again. He had been right last night when he guessed it was the station. There was an old car from a passenger train on the other side of the room. 

“You’re awake now?” Called a voice.

Stiles turned his head to the origin of the sound. The right side of his mouth quirked up.

“I should have known this was your hidey-hole.”

Derek rolled his eyes and tossed a paper sack on the bed next to Stiles.

“Hope you’re hungry,”

“God,” Stiles moaned as he opened the bag, “Starving.” 

He made a joyful noise as he pulled a Breakfast Jack out of the bag. As he stuffed the still warm sandwich in to his mouth, a delighted groan came from his throat.

“I think I might be in love.”

Stiles was allowed to eat in peace. Derek gave him a water bottle and Stiles eagerly gulped down nearly all of it.

“Thanks,” he said after putting the water down, “I owe you one.”

Derek looked at Stiles for a moment before looking down at his hands. He rubbed his palms together and clenched his jaw.

“What happened last night?” He finally asked.

“Well,” Stiles thought for a moment, “I think I faced off against the omega you’ve been looking for.”

“You what?” Derek hissed, snapping his gaze up to look at Stiles.

“I mean yeah. Where else do you think I got these claw marks from?” He asked, gesturing vaguely to the bandages on his chest, “Thanks for the patch job by the way.”

“Stiles what were you _thinking_?”

Stiles frowned, “It wasn’t like I was intentionally looking for Big Bad—I’m a far cry from a huntsman.”

“Then what were you doing?”

“I was looking for you! Why else would I be on the Preserve in the middle of the night? I’m not one of those mages that needs to do sacrifices—I don’t need it.”

“You could have just—“

“Just what Derek? I don’t know how to get a hold of you. I had no idea where you were living. You probably don’t even have a cell phone. The only way I know how to find you is to go to the Preserve.”

Derek looked down again. His eyebrows had furrowed and his knuckles were white. His fingers clenched tightly in to fists. Stiles thought he heard the man growl in his chest. But he was able to control his rage and turned a cold glare on to Stiles once more.

“You should have waited until daylight to find me,” he said in a low and calculated voice.

“Okay, yeah, probably. But Derek I’m fine—“

“The claw marks on your chest say otherwise.”

Stiles let out a frustrated breath, “I don’t know why you’re so angry about this. I’m not dead or anything. These will heal in no time.”

“That’s not the point!” Derek yelled. He exhaled harshly and he stood up from his chair. He paced for a moment and ran his hand through his hair. He inhaled slowly and exhaled once more.

“When I found you,” he began, “I thought you were dead. You were barely breathing, your skin was freezing cold, and your pulse was weak. If I hadn’t been patrolling you probably would have died.” His voice softened and he swallowed hard. 

At that, Stiles realized he was the only person in Derek’s life now. All of his family was gone, besides an uncle in a vegetative state. Now even Laura was gone, although he didn’t know that yet. But Stiles knew. Stiles understood that at this point, he literally was all Derek had. He was the only person that was a part of Derek’s life. 

Stiles looked away from Derek. His hands grabbed loosely at the sheet.

“Derek,” he began. He shook his head, “I won’t die that easily. I promise,” He looked up and fixed Derek with a determined stare. Stiles waited until Derek was returning his gaze before he spoke again.

“I promise,” he repeated. Derek stared with slight bewilderment at Stiles. He could only give a stunned nod in response.

Stiles then took a deep breath, “There’s something I have to tell you—“

“I know,” Derek cut him off. Stiles blinked. Derek nodded again, “I know about Laura.” It looked like it was difficult for him to admit out loud. There was a profound sadness to those hazel green eyes. Stiles nodded before looking away.

“I’m sorry,” he winced as he said it. He knew better than anyone that no apology could make up for the hurt of losing a loved one. Their condolences wouldn’t bring them back—nothing could make the pain go away. Nothing that any normal human could offer at least.

After an awkward moment where neither of them spoke, Derek cleared his throat, “You should be going.”

“Right,” Stiles mumbled, “At least its Saturday and I’m not missing any school.” He pulled the sheets back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Shit, my shirt.”

Derek moved to a duffle bag and rummaged around for a second before he pulled out a dark grey shirt, “Here, use this,” he tossed it to Stiles who caught it easily enough.

“Thanks,” he pulled it on over his head. The article hung loosely off his much smaller frame. He frowned but didn’t say anything. He slipped his sneakers on and stood. He must have been more tired than he thought because the world spun for a moment and he pitched forward. Something warm and solid supported him and kept him from falling. Stiles looked up to see that Derek had caught him.

“Thanks again,” Stiles mumbled. He tried to fight the rising heat to his cheeks. But he knew he couldn’t slow the rapidness of his heart. Derek’s gaze flickered down to Stiles’ chest before lingering on his lips. He put Stiles back on his feet and backed away with a short nod.

“Be careful getting back home.”

“You’re going to tail me the entire time, aren’t you?” Stiles asked. Derek crossed his arms over his chest as if to challenge Stiles to stop him.

“Okay fine,” Stiles groaned, “But dad doesn’t let me take in strays,” his eyes widened as he realized what he’d said.

“Shit, I didn’t mean—“

Derek shook his head, “It’s fine.”

Stiles shifted from foot to foot for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Well, then I guess I’ll be off,” he mumbled and headed for the only operable door. Just as he was reaching for the handle, Derek exhaled.

“Stiles,” Derek called. Stiles blinked and turned to look back at Derek. The elder male sighed slightly and then looked up at him, “(831) 212-3591. Just text me next time, okay?”

Stiles couldn’t help the little grin that came over his features. He nodded once and then left the station, repeating the numbers over and over in his head all the way back to his house.


	8. Unlimited Texting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny preface:
> 
> Stiles' text are in italics and Derek's are bolded!

Derek looked up from the book in his hands when his phone chimed in his pocket. The librarian shelving books near him shot him a disapproving look. He dipped his head in silent apology and pulled the offending electronic out. He had one contact in his phone—Laura—so no one ever called him. He left the sound on for his alarm in the morning and never bothered to turn it off. Now, with Laura gone, there was no one to call him. He stared at the California number for a moment before opening the text.

_do werewolves howl @ the moon?_

The man’s brows furrowed. As he tried to decide if it was a joke or not, his phone chimed in a second message. The same librarian—wrinkles, glasses, clip-on earrings and everything—forcefully put her finger to her lips. Derek quickly turned his phone on vibrate which actually took him a minute to find the setting. He went in to his messages and saw that the second message had come from the same number as the first.

_can u take pictures? dont ur eyes reflect from the flash? what do u do about selfie sunday?_

Derek tapped the screen to reply.

**Who is this?**

The phone buzzed instantly, as if the person had been looking at their phone as they awaited the reply.

_stiles!_

Derek could only blink at the message. He had given his number to the teenager, but he hadn’t expected him to actually use it. Shaking his head, he slid his phone back in to the pockets of his jeans. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket to get his library card. The librarian that had been shelving books was now behind the desk. She gave him the stinkiest eye in his life as he checked out the book he had found.

New reading material in hand, Derek exited the library. He unlocked his Camaro and slid in to the driver seat. He put the book in the passenger seat and pulled his phone out of his pocket. The messages were still on his screen. It was a few moments that he stared at them before locking his phone and tossing it next to the book. His engine purred when he turned the ignition and he put it in gear.

 

Sweat dripped on the dusty floor of the train station as Derek did his usual routine. He was finishing up with one-handed push-ups when his phone vibrated on the table next to him. Derek frowned and rose from his position on the floor. He wiped the dirt from his palms on the light grey athletic pants he was wearing. A bead of sweat trailed down his forehead in to his eye. While rubbing at the area, he grabbed a towel to wipe the other sweat from his skin. He would shower later at the Boys & Girls Club or the truck station down the road.

The number on the screen showed he had a new message from Stiles. Stiles hadn’t texted Derek since last week when he was in the library. Derek had since read the book from that time and gotten a new one. Had Stiles actually wanted answers to those questions? Or was he just being an annoying teenager with nothing better to do? Was Derek supposed to text back? He shook his head and opened the message.

_do u use silverware? like knives and stuff? or r u more a pick apart w/ur hands kind of guy?_

The phone buzzed again.

_would u just have an allergic reaction to forks? I dont think its real silver but what if u went to a friends house and they pulled out the good china? that could b really bad. funny, but bad._

Derek couldn’t help but to snort in amusement. He shook his head and put his phone back down on the table. It was funny because once the very thing had happened to his cousin. He’d gone over to his girlfriend’s house to meet her parents and it was a big deal. So they brought out the fancy china and the good silverware. His hands had a rash for a week and hives covered his forearms for days. It was still comical to think about now. Derek’s cousin hadn’t thought it was funny and his girlfriend had been mortified when she’d been told about their bloodline.

He grabbed a duffle bag of the things he would need to shower. Picking up his keys, he also picked up his phone. The message stared back at him and his thumb hovered over the reply button. Nevertheless, he closed the message and locked his phone. It slid silently in to his pocket. 

 

It was cold outside. As Derek ran through the forest, his breath was coming out in visible clouds. The sky was clear and the star twinkled from the inky darkness. He slowed to a walk before stopping completely. There were no unfamiliar scents in the air. Even the smell from Stiles’ fight with the omega had long since been swept up by the wind. He had at least found half of Laura’s body and given it a proper burial. But really, he didn’t want to relive the burial of his last family member. A shiver passed over him. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_its pretty cold 2nite. is it true that werewolves are warmer than humans?_

Derek pressed the reply button and thought for a moment.

**Werewolves generally have higher body temperatures because of the faster metabolisms.**

His thumb paused over the send button only for a moment before lightly tapping the screen. A few seconds later a confirmation that the message had been sent appeared. Derek blinked at his phone for a moment. Had he really just done that? Was he actually texting someone that wasn’t related to him? He was still having trouble with the idea that someone was texting him at all. It wasn’t too long before his phone buzzed with a reply.

_sooo...do u eat a lot then?_

Derek went over his usual meals in his head before responding.

**I eat three meals a day with a snack in the afternoon, just like everyone else.**

_really? what do u eat? rabbit? squirrel? small children?_

**I prefer Italian actually.**

_never would have guessed that._

_what abt bacon?_

_do u have an undeniable hunger for bacon?_

Derek chuckled to himself.

**If someone didn’t have an undeniable hunger for bacon, I would have to say they’re an alien.**

_for real tho! bacon is god’s gift to us_

_wait. do aliens exist?!_

The man shook his head and exited the forest. He would resume looking for the omega tomorrow night. He obviously wasn’t getting anywhere. He would need more leads or some evidence to give him some direction. Until then, his phone was buzzing with increasingly worried texts about the existence of extraterrestrials. Plus one account that might have been a dream, but Stiles swore that it actually happened and there was proof because honestly where would that scar have _come from_?

 

_can werewolves be born?_

Derek rolled over and grabbed his phone off the table. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and winced slightly from the backlight of his phone. The number flashed at him saying he had a new text message. He opened it without a thought. After reading it he replied.

**Yes.**

_does it happen a lot?_

**Older bloodlines that exist today are primarily born werewolves.**

_then are u...?_

**I am a born wolf. The Hale bloodline is one of the oldest and most well-known.**

Derek chose to ignore the twinge he felt in his gut when he read the “is” in his message. He was the last of his bloodline. He was the last Hale. He groaned and pushed his face in to his pillow. These were not the thoughts he had wanted to fall asleep to. It was a surprise to him when his phone started to vibrate like crazy. A frown drew his mouth down as he looked at his phone. An incoming call? It was nearly one in the morning. Nevertheless, he swept his thumb across the screen to answer the phone.

“Hello?” He grumbled in to the receiver. 

“Are you okay?” Came the response. Stiles’ voice was tiny through the speakers in Derek’s phone.

“It’s one in the morning. Don’t you have school in a few hours?”

“...”

“Stiles?” 

“I thought you might be crying,” Stiles said after a moment.

Derek rolled his eyes, “Why would I be crying?”

“Well, I mean, aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” Derek lied right away. It was a knee-jerk reaction.

There was a tense silence between them and Derek actually checked to see if the line had dropped. 

“When my mom died,” Stiles began slowly, “I was really lonely. My dad tried to take care of me, but he was suffering just as much as I was—probably more now that I think about it,” he mumbled.

“Honestly a lot of that time I don’t remember. I’ve probably blocked it from my memory or something. But it was a really dark time in my life and I acted out and I was a really terrible child.”

The teen sighed and took a moment before he spoke again, “I guess what I’m saying is that I know it can be hard to lose a family member. Although I probably sound like an arrogant child talking to you about familial death. Which, I mean, you know. I’m just saying that I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”

Derek was quiet for a moment but then he nodded, “Thanks Stiles,” he said gently.

“You know, your voice sounds really different on the phone. For a second there I thought you said thanks.”

“Don’t push it,” Derek growled but there was no bite to his words. He would never admit to it, but there might have been a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay well,” Stiles paused awkwardly, “I guess that’s all I wanted to say. Um, so, I’ll talk to you later?”

“Goodnight Stiles.”

“Goodnight Derek,” Stiles mumbled back, barely speaking in to the phone.

Derek pulled his phone away from his head and looked down at the screen. The numbers on the call time were still increasing as the seconds passed. His eyebrows furrowed. Did Stiles not hang up? Derek’s thumb hesitated as it was perched over the red end call button. The last time he had hung up on someone, they had died soon after. It wasn’t that it was a trauma, but Derek wouldn’t deny the tightening of anxiety in his chest.

When there was a small sound from his phone, Derek put the phone right back to his ear.

“Derek?”

“Yeah?” Derek asked. Was he breathless? No—not him.

Stiles laughed softly, “You didn’t hang up.”

“Neither did you,” Derek replied.

“Ah,” Stiles laughed again, “That’s true. Are you sleepy?”

“Not anymore,” Derek rolled on to his back and rested his hand on his pillow. His phone pressed gently against the side of his face.

“Did I wake you up?”

“Not really.”

“Not really?” Stiles repeated, “How can you not really wake someone up?”

“I wasn’t asleep yet.”

“Yeah, me either.”

“Obviously since you texted me.”

“Are born wolves different from turned wolves?”

Derek adjusted his position again. This time he turned on his side and let his phone lay on the side of his face.

“Different how?”

“Let’s see,” Stiles thought for a moment, “Are born werewolves stronger than turned ones?”

“Sometimes. Generally born wolves are only stronger than turned wolves because we can control the shift and our abilities more precisely than turned werewolves.”

“What’s that like? The shift, I mean,” Stiles’ voice broke for a moment with a yawn.

“It’s different. When I was a kid it was weird—like I was putting on a costume. For a while it was cool because I could be this badass wolf man. I was convinced that I was a superhero and I would use my wolf fangs for the betterment of mankind.”

“What happened?”

Derek shrugged, feeling a little silly since Stiles couldn’t see the action, “I grew up and mankind labelled me as a monster.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathed, “Hey Derek?”

“What?”

Stiles paused, “I’ve seen a lot of things in my life. What I mean is—I don’t think you’re a monster.”

What was Derek supposed to say to that? There was darkness in Stiles’ voice. What kinds of things had this young mage seen? What horrors could he have overcome that Derek wasn’t a monster in his world?

Derek shook his head and cleared the thought from his head. He quickly commandeered the conversation and changed the topic.

“Tell me about your tattoos. My uncle had told me about the practices of mages to strengthen and hone their skills, but I thought it had just been things he made up to scare me as a kid.”

“He was right to try and scare you,” Stiles muttered.

“What?” Derek frowned in the empty room.

“Nothing,” Stiles inhaled and then launched in to his explanation of his tattoos.

That was how Derek fell asleep that night, listening to the calming drone of a voice on a phone talking about different inks, herbs, runes, incantations, and pictures.

 

“How can you even eat that stuff?” Derek said, scrunching his nose with mild disgust.

Stiles looked up at the man with a mouthful of curly fries. He chewed and swallowed in a quick fashion which nearly made Derek’s stomach churn.

“Because it’s delicious, duh?” The teen’s lips wrapped around the straw of his drink. He drank quickly, the sound of liquid moving quickly entertaining Derek’s ears.

Derek shook his head and sipped slowly from his water.

“So,” Stiles raised an eyebrow at Derek, “Are you like a health freak? 1,500 calories a day kind of thing?”

“Not in the least,” Derek sat back, the old polyester of the booth squeaking beneath him, “But that is about as far from a potato that a person could get.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Stiles batted his eyelashes in adoration at the red-orange fry in between his fingers, “You’re so beautiful. How could anyone ever hate you?” Stiles flicked his gaze towards Derek. He brought the fry closer to his face, stroking it gently with his other hand.

“Don’t listen to him—that one doesn’t understand how amazing you are.”

“People are staring,” Derek smirked, amusement apparent in his eyes.

Stiles shrugged and popped the fried treat in to his mouth. He wiped the few crumbs from the corners of his lips.

“Trust me bud,” Stiles waggled an accusatory finger at him, “They certainly aren’t looking at _me_.”

Derek frowned, his eyebrows coming together, “What do you mean?”

Stiles gave him an incredulous glare, “Really? Do you not know that you’re six feet of muscled goodness?” He gestured towards his chin, “You’ve got the whole rugged, lumberjack gone motorcycle gang member thing going.”

Derek’s face didn’t change. He still wore an expression of confusion.

“Dude,” Stiles sighed, “You’re hot, okay? And that’s in a completely no homo way. Even though frankly I hate that phrase because there is nothing wrong with any homo because homo is completely okay if you’re a homo. That word’s even pretty terrible. Like, couldn’t there be a better term? Is a homo just a member of the gay community? Are they a queer? I mean, I know that the community is taking the term back and trying to change the views towards LGBTQ people. Rambling, sorry.” 

Stiles shut himself up by shoving some now cold curly fries in to his mouth. Derek blinked, more than likely having just been assaulted by some major word vomit. But the man didn’t comment on that. He looked down and rubbed at his stubble distractedly.

“I’m hot?” He mumbled.

Stiles groaned, “Please do not make me go through this right now. I don’t think I can handle an oblivious werewolf,” Stiles looked up and was surprised to see a bit of a flush on Derek’s cheeks.

“Are you blushing?” Stiles asked in a whisper.

Derek looked quickly to Stiles, “No. What? Of course not? Will you please just finish your curly fries so we can go?”

“Okay okay fine,” Stiles picked at the fries on his tray, “Such a sourwolf.”

Derek watched Stiles for a moment before turning to look out the window of the restaurant. He put his chin in his hands. His fingers hid his smug grin.

 

“Hey dad?” Stiles called, poking his head out from the kitchen.

“What is it?” John answered, putting his gun back together for the night’s shift.

“Can I invite a friend over?”

John paused for a moment and looked up at Stiles, “Not Scott?”

“Not Scott,” Stiles said with a shake of his head.

“Do I know this friend?”

“Uh, more or less?”

John gave his son a suspicious look. But he shrugged his jacket on and slid his pistol in to its holster. Stiles was practically an adult in the legal system’s eyes, he could be trusted with a friend over.

“Invite them over for dinner sometime so I can meet them, all right?”

“Sure! Have fun at work! But don’t even think about ordering take-out—I’ve got eyes everywhere, dad.”

The man groaned in faked sorrow before leaving the home. Stiles listened as the police cruiser in the driveway roared to life and eventually pulled away from the house. He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot a quick text off to Derek.

_want to come over for a movie? ive got unsalted popcorn_

The response came fairly quickly.

**What time?**

Stiles smiled slightly and replied with the time and movie choices.

Derek arrived right on time. He rang the doorbell and the sound actually startled Stiles. The only people who came to their house were the McCalls and they didn’t use the doorbell. They knocked once and then came right in. Stiles wondered briefly if maybe someday Derek wouldn’t need to use the doorbell either.  
Stiles moved to the door and opened it. Derek stood there, one hand awkwardly in his jacket pocket. The other had a plastic sack from the grocers in its grasp. When Stiles looked quizzically at it, Derek shrugged.

“I brought drinks,” he explained simply.

Stiles scoffed and raised his hand to his mouth in mock surprise, “Mr. Hale,” he said with a terrible Southern accent, “Surely you aren’t proposing we take place in the consumption of _alcoholic beverages_?”

“You’re underage,” Derek retorted. He shook the bag, “It’s water and orange soda.”

“What a wonderful guest,” Stiles moved aside and allowed Derek to enter. 

For a moment, the man hesitated. Then he inhaled and took the first step over the threshold. He paused in the foyer and glanced around. Stiles thought that he was probably taking notice of all the possible escape routes and any place that could hold dangers. 

“Here, I’ll take those in to the fridge,” Stiles offered, holding his hand out for the bag. Derek nodded and handed the bag off. He continued to look around, his hazel-green eyes moving slowly over everything in the unfamiliar home. Stiles frowned slightly but moved in to the kitchen to deposit the drinks. When he returned, Derek was standing in front of the table underneath the coat hooks. He had something in his hands.

“Is this your mother?” Derek asked, turning his eyes up when Stiles entered. Stiles walked over and looked at the picture.

He smiled softly, “Yeah. My dad paid to have professional pictures done on her 25th birthday.”

“She’s beautiful,” Derek ran his finger along the edge of the frame, “You look a lot like her.”

“Thank you. But my mom was pure and beautiful all over. I can’t even get anywhere near her level,” He mumbled. He played with the cuff of his jacket sleeve. It hid his tattoos. Even though they couldn’t be seen to people outside of the paranormal, he still kept them covered. He was tainted and the tattoos were a physical manifestation of his own darkness.

“What about you? Do you have any pictures of your mom?” Stiles asked, quickly changing the subject. Derek didn’t let this go unnoticed. He didn’t press it though. Putting the picture down gently, he shook his head.

“The fire destroyed everything. We had one wallet sized photo of her—Laura carried it around in her wallet. But Laura had been shifted when she was killed and I can’t find her clothes. So I don’t know where she left her wallet.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispered and he meant it. If it hadn’t been for the pictures of his mother that were scattered about the house, he probably would have forgotten what she looked like. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as the thought passed through his head. 

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

Derek pointed towards the kitchen, “The popcorn’s burning.”

It was a second later before the scent of burnt popcorn hit Stiles’ nose. He cursed out loud and rushed in to the kitchen. Derek smiled softly to himself. He looked once more at the picture of Claudia Stilinski. Then he turned and followed Stiles in to the kitchen, asking how one could possibly fail at such a simple task.

It took about 15 minutes for them to get the popcorn just right and the drinks over ice. Derek drank his water straight from the bottle. Stiles would have none of that. He knew where he glasses had been. He had no idea what kinds of things had touched the top of those cans. It was simply unsanitary. Derek had merely rolled his eyes in slight exasperation. 

They had decided on _The Avengers_. It was a movie both of them had seen at least once. Derek didn’t appreciate Stiles’ other choices of _Sorcerer’s Apprentice_ with Nicolas Cage or the cult classic _Teen Wolf_ with Michael J. Fox. Which, really, were Derek’s loss. Stiles had fantastic taste in movies.

All through the movie, Stiles and Derek had a running commentary. Stiles talked about character inaccuracies, plot loopholes, continuity issues, and ranted about Robert Downy Jr. for most of the time. Derek put in his two cents on fight scenes and how bodies just didn’t _work_ like that. They discussed the physics of some of the stunts and just how sturdy Bruce would have had to be to survive a fall like that.

They were both sitting on the couch in front of the TV for optimal viewing. The bowl of popcorn sat between them on the middle cushion. Stiles drank his orange soda and replaced it on the coffee table next to the couch. Then he reached in to the bowl only to have his fingers brush against Derek’s. Derek began to mumble an apology and pull away. But Stiles chased after his hand and grabbed it. The man inhaled sharply and he looked up from their hands to Stiles’ face. 

Stiles felt the flush to his cheeks. He swallowed hard, noticing how Derek’s gaze flicked down to the movement. Stiles leaned forward. Was Derek drifting towards him as well? Or was he just making that up? But soon, they were mere inches apart. Derek’s breath curled hot against Stiles’ skin. Stiles steeled himself and closed his eyes. Then he covered the small bit of space still remaining between them and gently pressed his lips to Derek’s.

Stiles’ lips were tight and unsure. He must not kiss very often. But those were not the thoughts that were quickly racing through Derek’s mind. His mind was filled with Stiles. He smelled Stiles’ scent, tasted the lingering zing of orange on his lips, heart the rapid thrum of his heart, he felt the heat of his skin radiating against him. It was absolutely intoxicating and Derek had never wanted something more in his entire life. 

All too quickly, Stiles was pulling away. Derek barely kept a displeased growl in his throat.

“Was that okay?” Stiles asked in a whisper, as if afraid speaking would break whatever bubble they were in.

Derek nodded, “Yeah.”

“Can I,” Stiles bit his lip slightly and Derek felt a tug in his gut. He wanted to bite that lip, hear Stiles keen with pleasure.

“Can I do it again?”

“Yes,” Derek breathed, moving forward first to capture Stiles’ lips with his.

They melted in to each other, each reveling in the taste of the other. Derek’s lips were softer than Stiles had expected. He yielded to the more experienced touch of the man. Derek put his hand on Stiles’ jaw and tilted his head ever so slightly. With expert movements, he probed at Stiles’ lips with a flick of his tongue. Stiles obliged and soon Derek was cataloguing every crevice of Stiles’ mouth. Stiles moaned breathlessly in to Derek’s mouth and the man ate all the sounds up greedily. 

More.

They wanted more of the other—needed it, _craved_ it. Stiles soon gained more confidence in himself. He moved to straddle Derek’s waist on the couch. The popcorn bowl thudded against the floor as it was knocked off the couch. The two ignored it completely. Stiles pushed his hands up in to Derek’s hair, holding his face steady as he took his time now exploring Derek’s mouth—committing the earthy taste of him to memory. Derek’s fingers curled tightly around Stiles’ hips and a low growl rumbled out from his chest. Stiles shivered at the sound of it and felt a thrill shoot through his body. 

Derek’s fingers were migrating under the hem of Stiles’ shirt. The rough pads of skin were hot against Stiles’ sides. Derek traced the scars of the tattoos on Stiles’ body. Stiles had to break the kiss as he groaned at the sensation. Derek’s large hands ghosted over Stiles’ stomach and up to his chest, fingers dusting against the hollow of his collarbone.

The man leaned forward and nibbled at Stiles’ jaw. He inhaled sharply at the feel of Derek’s stubble against his skin. Derek continued to mouth along Stiles’ skin and down his neck.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed, “Don’t stop. Never stop. Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“Stiles,” Derek growled against his skin, “Stop talking.”

“Make me,” Stiles challenged. Derek looked up, his eyes flashing blue and a smirk pulling at his lips. He intended to do just that. Their breaths mingled and Stiles’ lips tingled in anticipation.

Then Stiles’ phone started to blare the song “Teenage Dirtbag.”

Stiles groaned and let his forehead rest against Derek’s. Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Who’s that? Your dad?” 

“No,” Stiles reluctantly moved from his perch on Derek’s lap, “It’s Scott.”

Derek nodded even though he seemed mildly agitated. But so was Stiles. Wasn’t there some universal bro telepathy that let Scott know Stiles was actually getting some? Stiles sighed and picked his phone up from the coffee table.

“Scott?” He answered. 

“Stiles?” Scott sounded out of breath and terrified, “Thank god you picked up.”

Stiles sobered up immediately, “Scott where are you? What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t know. I’m in the Preserve. Mrs. Anderson said Fluffy hadn’t come back in and I offered to go find him. Oh god Stiles it was huge,”

“Mrs. Anderson’s Pomeranian?”

“No,” Scott wheezed and coughed, “It came out of nowhere. I don’t know—it was a wolf. Definitely a wolf. Can wolves even get that big? I didn’t think California had wolves.”

“Scott, I’m coming to find you,” Stiles said in to the phone as he pulled his shoes on and grabbed the keys to his Jeep. Derek was right behind him and Stiles took some comfort in that. 

“What if it comes back? I can’t run anymore—it hurts.”

“Are you having an asthma attack?”

“No—it—it bit me.”

“Stay where you are, Scott!”

As Stiles and Derek left the house and closed the door behind him, there was a howl from the Preserve. It echoed at Stiles through the headset of his cell phone. Derek stiffened instantly. His eyes flared blue and a snarl twisted his features.

“It’s the omega,” he growled. 

Stiles’ eyes widened and he nearly dropped his phone. Scott was still talking on the other line in a panicked voice. 

“Are you sure?” He asked Derek, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

Derek returned his gaze steadily. He nodded solemnly. 

“I think it bit Scott,” Stiles said.


End file.
